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EPILOGUE, SPOKEN BY MRS. BULKLEY
AND MISS CATLEY.
Enter Mrs. Bulkley, who curtsies very low as beginning to
speak. Then enter Miss Catley, who stands full before her, and curtsies to the audience.
HOLD, Ma'am, your pardon. What's your busi
The Epilogue ?
Yes, the Epilogue, my dear.
MRS. BULKLEY. Sure you mistake, Ma'am. The Epilogue I bring it.
MISS CATLEY. Excuse me, Ma'am. The Author bid me sing it.
RECITATIVE. Ye beaux and belles, that form this splendid ring, Suspend your conversation while I sing.
MRS. BULKLEY. Why sure the girl's beside herself: an Epilogue
of singing, A hopeful end indeed to such a blest beginning. Besides, a singer in a comic set ! Excuse me, Ma'am, I know the etiquette.
MISS CATLEY. What if we leave it to the House?
MRS. BULKLEY. The House ! -Agreed.
MISS CATLEY. I'm for a different set.—Old men, whose trade is Still to gallant and dangle with the ladies.
RECITATIVE. Whomump their passion, and who, grimly smiling, Still thus address the fair with voice beguiling.
AIR-COTILLON. Turn, my fairest, turn, if ever Strephon caught thy ravish'd eye;
Pity take on your swain so clever,
Yes, I shall die, hu, hu, hu, hu,
MRS. BULKLEY. Let all the old pay homage to your merit: Give me the young, the gay, the men of spirit. Ye travelled tribe, ye macaroni train Of French friseurs, and nosegays, justly vain, Who take a trip to Paris once a year To dress, and look like awkward Frenchmen here; Lend me your hands.-O fatal news to tell, Their hands are only lent to the Heinelle.
Ay, take your travellers, travellers indeed ! Give me my bonny Scot, that travels from the
Tweed. Where are the cheels? Ah! Ah, I well discern The smiling looks of each bewitching bairne.
A bonny young lad is my jockey.
I'll sing to amuse you by night and by day,
When you with your bagpipes are ready to play,
With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey,
MRS. BULKLEY. Ye gamesters, who, so eager in pursuit, Make but of all your fortune one va toute : Ye jockey tribe whose stock of words are few, * I hold the odds.—Done, done, with you, with
you.' Ye barristers, so fluent with grimace, My Lord,—your Lordship misconceives the case.' Doctors, who cough and answer every misfortuner, • I wish I'd been call’d in a little sooner,' Assist my cause with hands and voices hearty, Come end the contest here, and aid my party.
Your hands and your voices for me.
MRS. BULKLEY. Well, Madam, what if, after all this sparring, We both agree, like friends, to end our jarring?
And that our friendship may remain unbroken, What if we leave the Epilogue unspoken?
And now with late repentance,